Читать книгу The Courtesan - Julia Justiss - Страница 9

AS SOON AS Mae left, Belle headed for the servants’ stairs. Enjoying her role, Mae would bandy comments with the gentlemen waiting to accost Belle when she departed, basking in their compliments—and doubtless receiving a coin or two discreetly slipped into the notes she would promise to deliver to her companion. By the time the loitering men realized she was not joining Mae, Belle would be well away.

After tying in place the scarf that masked her gold hair, Belle donned her charcoal traveling cloak and paced to the back gate, where the hackney she’d requested waited. While the vehicle traversed the distance from Soho into the City, she wondered again what business could be so pressing her solicitor believed it required her immediate attention.

Had he encountered some difficulties in changing the terms of Kitty’s trust? Hoping any problems could be speedily resolved, she stepped down at her destination.

As she walked to the door, two clerks in conversation and a tradesman with his cart passed by, ignoring her. She paused, drinking in the wonder of it. Though, toward the end, she’d insisted on wearing gowns even less revealing than those favored by ladies of the ton, in the bright colors Bellingham preferred and that garish blue coach—the first thing she’d replaced after his death, with a new equipage all in black—she could go nowhere unremarked. It was still the sweetest of pleasures to walk down a street outside of Mayfair and attract no more notice than any other Londoner going about her business.

Just what business that was, she would soon discover.

Within a few moments of her arrival, Mr. Smithers’s clerk ushered her into his office, where the solicitor thanked her for answering his summons so promptly.

“My companion fears I must have suffered some grievous financial reverses,” Belle said as she took the seat he indicated. “I hope you are not about to inform me that my investments have taken a sudden fall on the ’Change.”

Returning her smile, the lawyer shook his head. “Quite the contrary, actually. I have the pleasure of informing you that you have been named chief beneficiary in the will of the late Richard Maxwell, Viscount Bellingham. The estate itself, of course, is entailed upon a cousin. However, except for small bequests to his wife and daughter, Lord Bellingham left the whole of his cash assets, the value of which is still being calculated, as well as all his unentailed property—a Suffolk manor, a Lincolnshire hunting box and a London town house—to you.”

Belle stared at the solicitor, unable to credit what she’d just heard. “There must be some mistake!”

“’Tis irregular, given that you had no link by blood or law to the deceased, but nonetheless quite legal. And no mistake. His late lordship’s solicitor spent most of yesterday afternoon with me, expounding on the details.”

“But…why?” Belle asked, more than half to herself. “He knew I had sufficient means to support myself, should anything happen to him.” Her brow knit in perplexity, her shock turned to suspicion as she tried to puzzle out Bellingham’s reasoning. “How much did he leave his wife and daughter?”

“Two hundred pounds each. Whereas his overall cash assets are estimated to be about twenty thousand pounds.”

“Twenty thousand—” Belle echoed. “Why, ’tis infamous!” As an explanation for Bellingham’s extraordinary bequest flashed into her head, irritation gave way to sheer, mindless rage. Jumping to her feet, she began to pace the office, too furious to speak.

“Apparently,” Smithers said blandly, “Lord Bellingham wished to guarantee that you had more than ‘sufficient’ support. You are now an extremely wealthy woman.”

“Who,” Belle said, pausing long enough to glare back at the solicitor, “is therefore much less likely to take a new protector to supplant him.”

As Mr. Smithers prudently refrained from comment, a vivid memory of an angry scene recurred to her. Belle, incensed and guilty at the thought of a sixteen-year-old daughter abandoned by her father, threatening to leave Bellingham if he did not honor his responsibilities to his kin by returning to reside, at least outwardly, with his family. Bellingham countering that if Belle ran away, he would neglect his relations entirely to search for her. They’d reached a stalemate of sorts, Bellingham refusing to give up living with her but agreeing to visit his wife and daughter more regularly.

This, then, was her late protector’s attempt at checkmate—a permanent, legal spurning of his despised wife in preference to her, done in such a manner that she could neither dispute with him over it nor refuse it.

Once again he was trying to take over her life, mark her as his own, and force her to dance by the strings he controlled—even from beyond the grave.

She could almost hear the vicious whispers circulating through the ton when the terms of his will became known.

The sense of lightness that had buoyed her after Bellingham’s death melted away and her chest began to tighten with the same crushing weight of enforced obligation that she’d endured for almost seven years.

Even as she felt she must scream in vexation, an inspiration occurred. Perhaps there was a way to evade checkmate. She whirled to face Mr. Smithers.

“The bequest is legally mine—funds, property, all?”

“Yes. In an effort to protect the widow and daughter, Bellingham’s solicitors spent several weeks trying to find a way around the will’s terms, to no avail. The legacy is definitely legal, and indisputably yours.”

“And ’tis mine to handle as I choose?”

“Yes, though I would recommend, with such a vast sum and numerous properties, that you retain an agent to advise you on the management of it.” Smithers lifted a brow, curiosity in his expression. “Have you something in mind?”

“My own accounts are in good order, as we discussed last month? You did not then foresee any difficulties in my being able to live modestly for the rest of my days.”

The solicitor inclined his head. “You would have been able to live comfortably, but in nothing like the style to which this inheritance will enable you.”

“Kitty’s trust is fully funded until she marries?”

“Your finances remain as I detailed them last month.”

“Very well. Once the estate has been settled and the total assets determined, I wish you to set up a new trust.”

The solicitor nodded. “A wise choice. You may choose to leave some of the cash on deposit—”

“A trust,” she interrupted, “for the benefit of Lady Bellingham and Miss Bellingham, with a portion set aside for Miss Bellingham’s dowry. Consult his lordship’s solicitors on the precise terms—they will doubtless be more cognizant of the family’s needs. And I should like to offer all the properties for sale to the rightful heirs—at the price of one shilling each.”

The solicitor’s eyes widened in surprise. “Are you sure, Lady Belle? ’Tis a very great deal of wealth.”

“What was his should go to his family. I don’t want it, nor is it right that I receive it.” With a touch of defiance she added, “He shall brand me no more.”

The solicitor gave her a smile of genuine warmth. “I shall set about arranging it. His lordship’s solicitors are going to be shocked—and extremely relieved!”

“Make sure you charge them a hefty fee!” Belle recommended with a grin, filled with the euphoria of a great burden lifted. “Send for me when the necessary papers are prepared. And now, if there is nothing else?”

Mr. Smithers’s smile broadened. “I should think inheriting—and giving away—a fortune should be business enough for one day.”

“I shall take my leave, then.” Satisfied to have evaded Bellingham’s last ploy, Belle walked to the door, then paused on the threshold. “I want to thank you for your expertise and counsel over the years, Mr. Smithers. Few men would have agreed to take on so…disreputable a client. I am very grateful you did.”

Mr. Smithers bowed. “’Tis I who have learned from you, lady—that appearances are not always what they seem, and that there is honor to be found in persons of every degree. What you are doing is truly noble.”

“What I am doing is merely proper,” Belle countered. “Which reminds me…If the family has not yet been apprised of the terms of the will, I should prefer that the particulars remain between you and the Bellingham solicitors. Let his family believe Lord Bellingham set up the trust. As he should have done,” she added acerbically.

“Given the, ah, sensitive nature of the bequest, I’m sure his lordship’s solicitors will be happy to honor that request.” Smithers bowed to her. “Good day, Lady Belle.”

“Mr. Smithers.” With a curtsy, feeling once more in control of her fate, Belle swept from the room.

AFTER DAWDLING, at Aubrey’s insistence, at the fencing master’s house with the expectation of catching another glimpse of Aubrey’s goddess, Jack was as famished as Aubrey was disappointed when they at last arrived at White’s. Once Lady Belle’s carriage—containing the lady’s companion but not the lady herself—finally departed, there was such a mob of gentlemen seeking vehicles that Jack had to use his most commanding cavalry officer’s voice to snag a hackney.

Having commandeered one of the first vehicles to appear, the friends found the club relatively deserted. After ordering breakfast, they took their seats.

“Well,” Aubrey demanded, smiling broadly, “are you not pleased I insisted you accompany me?”

A vision of vivid blue eyes and a restless, almost feral gaze invaded Jack’s mind, sent a reminiscent shiver over his skin.

He shrugged it off. “Not that I can or will do anything about it but…yes, I suppose I am.”

“You ‘suppose,’” Aubrey echoed. “You only suppose you are happy to have discovered the most unusual and exquisite woman in London—and quite possibly the world! Damn, Jack, what an odd fellow the war’s turned you into!”

“Sorry to be so disappointingly dull,” Jack replied with a grin. “I grant you, Lady Belle is everything you claim. Were I disposed to indulge myself in carnal delights—and had I a bankload of guineas to bolster that aim—I might be tempted to enter the lists. But as I told you earlier, I’m of a mind to settle down.”

Aubrey made a disgusted noise and rolled his eyes.

Chuckling, Jack continued, “Even if I weren’t, there’s Dorrie’s Season to be considered. She’d never forgive me for embarrassing her during the most important time of her life by dangling after a notorious lightskirt.”

“There is that,” Aubrey agreed, somewhat mollified. “You could be discreet, though. Men do it all the time—pay court to the ladies at Almack’s, then stop by the Green Room to meet their favorite actress. Besides, what about calling on her for the benefit of your best, most loyal friend? You can’t convince me you are indifferent, despite that hen-hearted drivel about getting leg-shackled!”

Jack took a sip of his ale. He really did mean to look for a wife. And he really couldn’t afford to contend for the favors of the intriguing Lady Belle. Still…the powerful attraction of that compelling blue gaze called out to him, in defiance of logic, prudence and good sense.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to call,” he conceded.

Aubrey slammed his mug down and gave a crow of triumph. “I knew no man could resist her!”

“Lady Belle?” asked one of a group of gentlemen just entering the room. “Indeed not! You saw her fence, didn’t you? Magnificent! Totally flummoxed poor Wexley.”

“Jack, you’ll remember Montclare,” Aubrey said as they rose to greet the newcomers. “Farnsworth, Higgins—and this young cub is Ansley—too far behind us at Oxford for you to know him.”

After an exchange of greetings, Aubrey said, “Come, gentlemen, help me toast my good friend’s safe return.”

“With pleasure,” Montclare replied. “Far too many of our Oxford mates didn’t come back after Waterloo.”

After drinks all around, Aubrey turned back to Montclare. “Will Wexley make an appearance, or did he slink home after that disgraceful performance?”

“Oh, I expect he’ll turn up to drown his sorrows. Hamhanded clothhead actually thought he had a chance of winning a kiss,” Montclare said with a wry grimace.

“Taking on Lady Belle, he’s lucky he didn’t end up skewered, trussed and ready to roast like a Christmas goose,” Farnsworth observed.

“You’d not seen her before, had you, Carrington?” Higgins asked.

“No, he couldn’t have,” Montclare answered for him. “Went out to the army in—’08, wasn’t it, Jack?”

“Yes. I took leave after Corunna and then between Toulouse and Waterloo, but spent my limited time at Carrington Grove, not in London,” Jack confirmed.

“As I recall, it wasn’t until 1811 that Bellingham brought Belle to town,” Farnsworth said.

“Spring of 1811,” Aubrey said reverently. “The Cyprian’s Ball. Dressed all in virginal white, she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever beheld. Still is.”

“Beautiful, yes, but hardly ‘virginal,’” Farnsworth said with a laugh. “She’s got an avaricious heart as hard as the guineas that golden hair rivals in brightness.”

“You only say that because she’s just turned down your offer,” Ansley responded hotly. “She’s as kind as she is lovely. Knowing I could never afford to possess her, when I begged her to allow us to challenge her for the chance of winning a kiss, she graciously granted my request.”

“Probably because she knew you’d never fence well enough to claim one,” Farnsworth answered. “Although you certainly could never afford her. The fortune Bellingham spent on her over the years! Gowns fit for a queen, jewels as impressive as the collection in the Tower, horses, carriages, a house in town as well as a country manor.” Farnsworth shook his head. “The man was besotted.”

“Given the funds and attention he lavished on her, you’d think she would have been content,” Montclare observed. “Yet what must she do two years ago but coax Bellingham to live openly with her! There had long been enmity between Bellingham and his wife, but he owed his family better than so humiliating and public a slight.”

“Can’t expect a creature like Belle to know or care about proper conduct,” Higgins responded. “Besides, we’ve all felt the force that kept Bellingham with her so many years.” With a lascivious look, he added, “You’ve heard about that interlude in Vauxhall, haven’t you?”

At that moment, the waiter arrived with their orders, halting the conversation and giving Jack time to reflect.

Though he knew better than to put much credence in common gossip, he’d felt an irrational disappointment in having his supposition of Belle’s expensive, grasping nature confirmed by Farnsworth. Ansley’s spirited defense of her had inexplicably lightened his heart. Though he was an idiot to expend any emotion on a woman who would never be more to him than a dazzling, seldom-glimpsed stranger.

Before he’d finished berating himself for a fool, his attention was drawn to an approaching figure and he jumped up with a smile. “Edmund! How good to see you!”

Edmund, Lord Darnley, one of Jack’s closest friends from Eton and Oxford, reached out to clasp his hand. “Jack. Praise God, it’s good to have you home.”

“Ah, Darnley, what a magnificent match you missed this morning!” Montclare said. “After actually disarming Armaldi—hard to imagine anyone accomplishing that feat, I know—Belle had poor Wexley facedown on the floor before a cat could lick its ear. Where were you, by the by?”

“While the rest of you fribbles may have nothing better to do than hang about watching Wexley create the newest on-dit, some of us actually work,” Darnley said with a grin, taking the chair Aubrey fetched for him.

“Work—bah!” Higgins dismissed Edmund’s reply with a disdainful wave. “Ever since Lord Riverton appointed him as Cabinet assistant, he’s been promenading about as if he were as crucial to the government as Wellington.”

“The envy of the indolent and incompetent,” Edmund said with a drawl, winking at Jack.

“Never mind Darnley’s baiting,” Farnsworth said. “You were about to tell us about Lady Belle and Vauxhall?”

His quarrel forgotten, Higgins’s eyes took on a prurient gleam. “Ah, yes! I’ll never forget it, though ’twas nearly four years ago. A group of us went to the gardens and spied Bellingham with Belle and some friends, all well in their cups. Belle was sporting a gown fashioned from some sheer material, the bodice so low cut it revealed nearly the whole of those delicious breasts. Indeed,” he continued, his voice thickening, “Bellingham said he would rather savor her, for her plump, pebbled strawberries were sweeter than any Vauxhall had to offer.”

By now, Jack’s entire group—and all the gentlemen sitting within earshot of it—had fallen silent, giving Higgins their undivided attention.

Seeming pleased by his large audience, Higgins continued, “Bellingham leaned over to Belle, and with men and woman of all stations in booths but a few yards away, started suckling her tits—right through her gown!”

After a chorus of indrawn breaths and assorted exclamations, Higgins continued. “When he finished, the bodice was entirely transparent—leaving those strawberries clearly visible for us all to feast our eyes upon—and, ah, how worthy they were of feasting! Before we could look our fill—though I doubt one ever could—Belle suggested a stroll. I felt sure Bellingham would hustle her down one of the dark walks and finish what he’d started, but he invited a group of us to accompany him. Hardly able to imagine what might transpire next, we accepted.”

Though shocked by the idea of so intimate an act being performed in public, within view of decent men and women, Jack was ashamed to admit that he was as titillated as he was revolted. An honorable man, he told himself sternly, would walk away, leaving the rest of Higgins’s ribald story unheard. Jack tried to tell himself to do just that—but his legs didn’t seem to be obeying his brain.

“Bellingham did head for one of the darker paths,” Higgins was continuing, “announcing that he felt the need to dispense with some of the wine he’d drunk. That business concluded, instead of sheathing his standard—its condition already, as you can imagine, at better than half-mast—he bade Belle walk on with him. Advising her to hang on to something firm, he wrapped her hand around his shaft and set off—her fingers caressing him at every step.”

While Higgins paused to take a sip, the entire company sat in a breath-suspended hush. Get up now, Jack instructed. His limbs continued to defy him.

Gaze abstracted, as if focused on the memories he was describing, Higgins resumed, “By the time we reached his carriage, Bellingham wasn’t the only one gasping for breath. The moment the footman opened the door, Bellingham hustled her back against the squabs—and with all of us, including the footman, still looking on, yanked her skirts up to her waist and thrust her legs apart. Such a vision of creamy white thighs and sweet nether lips in a nest of golden curls, I shall never forget! Then Bellingham lifted her breasts out of that excuse of a bodice and mounted her. The footman, too shocked to move, I suppose, never closed the carriage door, so we saw the whole. Belle’s eyes glassy and her mouth open as Bellingham pounded into her—those luscious naked breasts bouncing, barely a handspan away…I must admit, the footman wasn’t the only onlooker who discharged his weapon that night!” Higgins exhaled heavily. “’Twas the most erotic experience of my life.”

In the midst of the groans, sighs and ribald comments, Jack heard young Ansley mutter, “I don’t believe it.”

Though with the cynicism of age, he realized that the broad outlines, if not the coarse details, of Higgins’s tale were probably true, he found himself sympathizing with the infatuated youth’s disinclination to accept that the beautiful creature he obviously worshiped could have been involved in so crude and carnal an episode. Before Jack could decide whether he was more disgusted with Higgins for telling the tale or himself for listening to it, another man entered the room.

“Ah—Lord Rupert!” Higgins exclaimed, gesturing to the newcomer. “Another spellbound witness to the extraordinary events I’ve just described. Indeed, my lord was so enraptured by the, ah, sights and sounds that evening, he has been mad for the wench ever since, eh, Wendell?”

Ignoring him, Lord Rupert walked calmly onward. Turning back to the group, Higgins continued, “Bellingham removed her from town for a time immediately afterward, some alleged because he feared Rupert would try to bribe her away from him. Though, given the sums you’re reputed to have offered and had turned down,” Higgins said, addressing the baron, “it don’t seem she favors you.”

“If Bellingham were still alive,” Rupert said, fixing a chilly silver-eyed gaze on Higgins, “you wouldn’t have dared recite that story, you miserable muckworm. You, I, the others—we all swore to remain silent.”

Higgins’s face colored. “B-but that was only—”

“I think, in honor of his memory, I should take care of you for him,” Rupert interrupted, giving Higgins a thin smile. “Perhaps it might be…healthier if you left town. Now.”

Under Rupert’s unnerving scrutiny, Higgins turned pale, then red again. After a moment’s hesitation, while Rupert continued staring silently at him, Higgins rose and walked out.

“As for the lovely Lady Belle,” Rupert continued, his voice calm as if nothing unusual had transpired, “I have every expectation of her eventually accepting my carte blanche. Make no mistake—sooner or later, that lady will be mine.”

“She is not, however, yours yet,” Ansley reminded doggedly. “Any one of us has the right to approach her.”

“Anyone?” Rupert gave a disparaging bark of laughter. “I’d hardly count on winning yourself a kiss, young pup. ’Twould require a swordsman of far more skill than you’re ever likely to possess.”

“I daresay Carrington might do it,” Aubrey said, startling Jack. “He’s been the best fencer of us all since Eton.”

“So he has,” Montclare agreed. “What do you say, Jack? Shall you have a go at it?”

Recovering from his initial shock, Jack knew he should put an immediate end to the discussion. After all, Higgins’s tawdry story should have inspired him with a firm disinclination to have anything further to do with a woman who had allowed herself to be displayed more crudely than the cheapest prostitute out of Seven Dials.

Except he couldn’t quite reconcile that vision of offensive carnality with the fierce gaze and intense, focused concentration of the woman who had disarmed her fencing instructor, demolished her subsequent opponent and left the room without responding to any of the offers shouted at her by a gallery full of eager supplicants.

Base voluptuary. Scheming, money-hungry jade. A woman of kind heart. Which of those descriptions—if any—reflected the true Lady Belle?

“Of course he’ll do it—won’t you?” Aubrey’s reply pulled Jack’s attention back to the present.

Without having made any conscious decision, Jack heard himself say, “I suppose so.”

“Famous!” Aubrey said. “That kiss is as good as won.”

Jack laughed, but before he could respond, he felt a prickling between his shoulder blades that had, during his years as a soldier, often been a presage of danger. He turned to find Lord Rupert’s gaze on him.

“You might win a kiss,” Rupert conceded after studying him. “But you will never win Belle to your bed.”

“I say, is that a threat?” Aubrey demanded.

“Nay, ’tis more like a dare,” Montclare opined.

“Indeed not, ’tis a wager!” another man cried.

“So it is,” several others agreed. And before Jack could utter another word, calls went out for a waiter to bring the betting book.

Though Jack disavowed interest in anything beyond a contest of blades, the other men, after informing him his participation was unnecessary, duly recorded the wager.

That done, with a cold nod to Jack, Rupert departed. As the other men drifted away, Jack declined Aubrey’s invitation to a hand of whist and accepted Edmund’s offer of a lift back to his rooms. After bidding Aubrey good-bye, the two friends set out.

After tooling his high-perch phaeton down several streets, Edmund turned his attention to Jack. “Do you really intend to challenge Lady Belle?”

“It should prove…interesting. She is quite proficient—amazingly so for a woman.” Jack hesitated. Edmund had always been a steady sort, more detached and observant than the volatile Aubrey. Knowing he could trust his level-headed friend’s opinion, he felt compelled to ask, “What do you think of Lady Belle?”

“Do I believe she actually took part in Higgins’s frolic? Or do I suppose his tale to be a drunkard’s embellishment of a more innocent incident?”

Jack shrugged. “The account was a bit…shocking.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know the truth. Lady Belle has always seemed to me to possess too much…dignity to have participated in such a display. Either way, I doubt it has any bearing on her skill with a foil.”

“I suppose not.”

“If you wish to get a better sense of the woman, you might stop by Drury Lane tonight. Lady Belle keeps a box there. When do you mean to challenge her?”

“Aubrey committed me for tomorrow morning.”

Having reached Albany, Edmund pulled up his horses. “I shall have to delay going to the office until after the match, then. May I wish you good luck.”

“Thank you,” Jack said, accepting his friend’s hand down. “For the ride—and the opinion, as well.”

Edmund nodded. “Drury Lane, upper right. I must work tonight, or I’d be tempted to join you. In any event, I hope Rupert, that slimy bastard, doesn’t end up with her.” Flicking the reins, Edmund set his horses in motion.

Jack watched as his friend drove off, then took the stairs with a purposeful stride. He had his rooms to put to rights, his solicitor to consult, a valet to hire, new garments to order and Horse Guards to visit.

And he didn’t want to be late to the theater.